


Landfill Archive

by LiCHT (lnterplay)



Series: Landfill Archive [2]
Category: Durarara!!, Vocaloid
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnterplay/pseuds/LiCHT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Landfill Archive is a collection of drabbles and one-shots centred around MasaLen, in which Kagamine Len is a very introverted individual, and it’s amazing he can manage to deal with Kida Masaomi’s bullshit on a regular basis.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">Based off old crossover inspired by MasaLen RPs.</span><br/><span class="small">Chapter length varies.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Afterglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no revisions or beta. pardon errors.

Everyone has those moments where they feel completely at ease. Mother Nature is a beautiful thing, yet what’s really striking is when the clear skies let dim rays of evening sun slip past the shades, sliding across the room. When the snowy world outside is reduced to mere background noise. When the honking cars caught in traffic, the laughter of children ensuing wars with each other, the chatter of teeth clanking together like ice as the unrelenting cold weather shows no mercy all fade into a soft symphony of sounds. It’s like a lullaby, calming to the core, but you’re still not tired enough to sleep. The room is warm, and the heater is working on full blast. It adds to the gentle hum of makeshift music filling the empty space.

Len sat upright, some flaxen locks matted with drying sweat to the back of his neck, comforter pooled around his hips. His nimble fingers work up and down the spine of his fellow blonde, pushing with enough force to call it a decent backrub. He can feel the thrum of a heartbeat the further up he goes, and it mimics the pace his own organ has been pulsing along to. The blinking clock was almost blindingly bright, flashing seventeen hours back at him. He stared down at the electronic gizmo, and yet even the time wasn’t enough to put a damper on his mood. There was, without a doubt in the world, only one thing Len felt in this moment. Positivity. He could glance out into the outside world, press his face to the glass, and only see the way people cared for each other, just as he could look down at the resting Masaomi, face down on the bed and drooling, and only feel what he could identify as love. It’s been so long.

He felt utterly spent. Physically drained, at the very least. So completely unreal, feeling like he was nothing but an embodiment of love, of happiness. It took a great push for him to slide down under the blankets and pull them back over his side, and he snuggled deep into the sleeping grasp of his partner. Their legs tangled together quickly, in pattern. Masaomi smacked his lips together with a yawn and subconsciously he readjusted his position. Len allowed his eyes to close, and willed his emotion to encompass Masaomi. Let him feel safe, let him have nice dreams.

It was these moments in the afterglow when Len realised that he would be okay.

They would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on tumblr.   
>  i pay more attention to tumblr than this, so, if you liked it, reblog it, mayhaps.
> 
> [**Landfill Archive** | _lnterplay_ on Tumblr](http://lnterplay.tumblr.com/landfill)


	2. Heart's Ease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depression and anxiety, probably surrealism in the sense of words.   
>  To myself, because I needed this.

Some days, you feel utterly weak.

There is no way else to describe it; there is a lack of motivation in your veins, your blood runs thin and your legs give out whenever you try to stand. There’s a moment of salt and pepper to your vision and you’re dizzy. You spiral back onto whatever it was you were just sitting on and curse, because you just feel so completely helpless. Water does nothing. Sleep provides but a momentary escape. Everything seems to be crashing around you and there’s nothing you can do-- nothing that you want to do. It was like this that Len lay sprawled out on his stomach on the livingroom floor. It was chilly. The heat wasn’t on, and it was late at night. A chill worked goosebumps all over his skin. Atop the coffee table his phone vibrated every so often, sending more shivers each time down his spine. He couldn’t sleep like this, yet he couldn’t move.

It was infrequent that he succumb to these spells of mourning, yet it lasted so terribly long when upon him. An hour felt like a month while a day felt like two years. It was terrifying. The feeling that he could do absolutely nothing. The feeling that if he moved an inch he would fall off the face of the earth. The feeling that even if he tried to do something, to roll over or to even breathe, it wouldn’t work. It was a horrifying truth. At some points it felt like drowning in air. It’s so hard to talk to people like this. To try and force words out when you were already so deprived of your own breath.

It hurt more for him to try and fail than to never try in the first place.

_“No, I’m fine. I promise. I’m not lying.”_

It wasn’t a mask to protect others. It was a defense mechanism. The more he would think about how to word his feeling, the more his head would ache, the more he would fall into this abyss. It was like an irrational fear: all the time spent thinking about it hindered his free living. No. He didn’t want that. But he couldn’t explain it. It would consume him before he could get the chance to explain it. He’d take this bursts of pain once or twice a month anytime over day to day agony.

These moments gave him the opportunity to piece together so many different things. And when he came back from his sojourns, he found all new reasons to be grateful for what he had.

Subsequently, Len allowed his eyes to flutter shut for a brief moment, in an attempt to keep his breathing regulated as he lay still, hands pressed tight to his sides. He felt an onslaught of tears prickle in his dried eyes (he hadn’t realised he had left them open for so long), and the faucet wouldn’t shut off as soon as it had been turned on. The hot, salty-liquid stained pink down his cheeks, and Len allowed them to flow.

It was just routine, at this point, let it happen.

It’d all be over later.

He’d feel better soon.

He had to.

The phone on the table kept buzzing anyway.

* * *

[ **From: Masaomi | 14:45 PM** ]  
len?

[ **From: Masaomi | 15:02 PM** ]  
lenlenlen len

[ **From: Masaomi | 15:36 PM** ]  
I miss you.

[ **From: Masaomi | 16:24 PM** ]  
are you feeling better?

[ **From: Masaomi | 17:30 PM** ]  
this bullshit is starting to get more frequent

[ **From: Masaomi | 17:31 PM** ]  
not that its bullshit i just

[ **From: Masaomi | 17:31 PM** ]  
why do you do this to yourself

[ **From: Masaomi | 17:33 PM** ]  
tell me whats wrong

[ **From: Masaomi | 22:57 PM** ]  
I’m sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on tumblr.   
>  i pay more attention to tumblr than this, so, if you liked it, reblog it, mayhaps.
> 
> [**Landfill Archive** | _lnterplay_ on Tumblr](http://lnterplay.tumblr.com/landfill)


	3. Like Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood, sweat, tears. Nothing graphic.   
>  Based off a Twitter request for my partner in MasaLen related crime.

Some mornings, Len would wake up and there would be a thick lingering of some taste he couldn’t pinpoint stuck to the roof of his mouth. It was like a piece of white bread suction cupped to the bend, or even peanut butter, if it were an off day. More often than he cared to admit, Len spent copious amounts of time licking the creamy texture away, not much different than if a dog were to do so. He really hated peanut butter. Regardless, he went through his normal schedule, but even without a thing missing or misplaced, there was a nettling feeling hanging over his head, wondering if he’s forgetting something. Did he leave the bathroom lights on? Is the kitchen sink still running? Has the cat gone unfed?

… _Well._ He doesn’t have a cat. But the point still stood.

It left him almost disoriented; surly at best, constantly stopping himself from snapping at anyone who commented on his haggardness as he went about his errands, plucking off his checklist one by one in preparation for the new school term to begin. Food, material supplies, and the like. The small blonde was in a daze. A zombie-like, routine oriented trance that no shake of the head seemed to fix. Perhaps it was a bug. A simple problem he could fix with a little bit of time and maybe some cold medicine.

Standing before a rack of writing utensils, Len fought internally with himself over _.5 or .7 mechanical pencils_ when his phone began to chime, a small yet familiar beat that he knew belonged to one of the most over-exuberant and easily excitable blondes of all time.

Fishing the device from his pocket and answering the phone, Len perched it between his shoulder and cheek, instantly inquiring with familiarity and admiration in his tone whether Masaomi thought that there was a difference between the two types of lead, and which one was easier to write with, or if he should skip pencils altogether and stick with ballpoint pens. Though, he _supposed_ it didn’t matter when all your characters and numbers came out as ambiguous and amorphous chicken scratch, but the voice that came on the other end of the line was ragged and rushed; a transient voice lost under a blanket of silence and the sound of fabric rustling. There was a mumbling, or at least a noise that indicated some form of intelligent conversation, but Len wasn’t sure. It left him nearly frozen in place, a cold sweat dripping down his spine.

“ — Masaomi?”

Silence.

And then a loud noise like crackling. Two of them.

Len half expected to hear a hissing noise at the end of each, and then a third and fourth explosion, like fireworks. Blue eyes unfocused from the scene around him, and he could  almost smell the crisp air as he was suddenly thrust back into his memory to the last time there were firework celebrations. It had to have been back at the New Years celebration. He and Masaomi had played with sparklers, and lit off bottle rockets. He remembered how close Masaomi held him when they hid behind dumpsters after outrunning the cops while waiting for the fuzz to dissipate. How his heart thudded in his chest with anticipation and energy and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

It was hard to keep from bellowing with laughter back then.

But he wasn’t laughing now.

He wasn’t sure if he was even _breathing._

A sob nearly tore through his throat, as savage and unsatiated and belligerent as a wild, bellicose, and starving animal, when Len finally heard the other speak again, voice poised and calm, glassed over with an apologetic timbre and tiredness.

Masaomi asked him to buy a few things, since Len was already at the convenience store. Some bandages, antibiotic creams, hydrogen-peroxide, and maybe some scissors. It took a while for the boy to finally respond, but he did, nodding his head and almost dropping the phone when he did before finally bringing a hand up to hold the appareil to his ear. Then he remembered Masaomi probably couldn’t see him, and he whispered a small _“okay,”_ as the air began to flood his lungs again. He wasn’t sure when he started holding his breath, but it made him feel light headed when he began to slowly breathe in and out.

A second later, Masaomi mentioned he would hang up to send Len a text about where he was, but before he could finish the teen was cut off with a frantic disapproval of the action. Len’s lip trembled.

“I don’t— don’t leave me.” He repeated the words a few more times. _“Please.”_ Masaomi breathed heavily at this, and the movement in itself was enough to send another surge of relief through the frantic youth. He scrambled to gather the supplies and pay, all the while keeping the phone pressed tight to his cheek and determination set deep in his visage; anything he had already bought earlier in the day had been left behind, he realised at last minute, but that was fine with him. He just had to get to Masaomi.

The voice on the other end of the line, groggy and rather raspy, guided him to a small alley. It sent shivers up his arm as he walked in, but it was by no means a frightening scene. In fact, it was quite the contrary, dimly lit with the setting sun but bright enough to distinguish everything about it; the chipping brick walls, the trash lining the walls and cardboard boxes that were obviously used for shelter at some point or another. _No._ What shocked him the most was the coppery smell of blood mixed with the fear of being unsure what he was walking into. He could hear the choppy, almost panting breath come from both his phone and a figure slumped against the wall.

His heart stopped beating for a moment as his gaze crossed the honey coloured one when Masaomi looked to Len, a lopsided but obviously pained grin slapped across his face.

And then, the lighter blonde couldn’t help it. Masaomi was okay.

Masaomi was _alive._

That alone was enough to break his composure. Thick tears welled in the corners of his eyes before spilling loose, nose tickling and throat itching from the intensity of the respite that nearly slammed him off his feet. His feet picked up their pace, and he all but threw himself upon the injured juvenile while attempting to gather him in his arms for a hug. Masaomi used one hand to return it, rubbing circles into Len’s back as the other gripped tight at his shirt, forehead in the crook of his neck, as the other wept from the sheer confused mix of emotions that ran rampant throughout his body.

Eventually, Masaomi’s voice softly commanded Len back to the reality of the situation.

“I’m okay. I’m alright.” He mused, nuzzling Len’s ear slightly, exhaling through his nose.

Len was hushed, but eventually replied hoarsely upon finding his voice again.

“I thought you were dead.” He breathed, “I thought you _died_ on the _phone_ with me.”

“Just a knife to the arm, babe,” Masaomi joked a little. “And, well, I think I sprained an ankle, but I have a brace for that somewhere.”

Len glanced to the strip of fabric haphazardly tied around Masaomi’s forearm and swallowed. He was _not_ good with blood. Other bodily fluids— saliva, tears, snot —he could handle. But blood wasn’t one he wasn’t sure he could get used to. Nevertheless, his fingers tentatively worked at untying the knot at Masaomi’s command. He lead the teen through the procedures, cleaning the wound, washing it out, all the while gritting his teeth. Len tried to comfort him, to tell him that he’s doing so much better than Len would in this sort of situation. It made him laugh a little at the imagery of Len whining the entire time Masaomi tried to fix up a wound, but his stomach lurched simultaneously hoping that nothing like this would happen to Len. At least, not anytime soon.

When Len finished patching and bandaging the wound, Masaomi chortled.

“You know, it’s kinda hot. You being on my lap. In public.”

Len slapped at his chest lightly, fighting a heated sensation at the back of his neck, feigning anger. “Asshole. You just got _knifed._ It is not the time to try and pull moves on me.”

The fake blonde shrugged, winced, but winked at the other who more comfortably seated himself in the lap of the other. It was still a struggle for Len to fully comprehend what had happened, and it was obvious to Masaomi how much of a toll it took on his conscious, if the worry etched into his features wasn’t but a dead giveaway.

“Trust me, I’m going to be just fine, Len.” He punctuated his words by softly crossing both arms around Len’s waist, nudging the other’s nose with his own. Len’s eyes fluttered a bit, tickling Masaomi’s cheek, but he didn’t respond much more than looping his own arms around the teen’s neck. “So, you should give me a kiss. Y’know, one of those _‘Oh, Masaomi, you’re just so hot, I don’t know what I would have done if you’d—’_.”

His loquacious disquisition was stopped dead in its tracks as Len pressed his lips against the other. Masaomi smirked into the kiss smugly, but it set his heart alight all the same. He closed his eyes and tilted head into the connection, feeling all the tension and desperation and fear from his counterpart slowly melt away. It was good. Sort of like a “thank you for not dying;” or perhaps it was more along the lines of “thank the gods that you’re safe,” but Masaomi took from it what he wanted, and in return lapped away the negativity in the atmosphere and deepened the kiss until the flaxen blonde was all but panting in his lap. When they parted Len returned his head to resting on Masaomi’s shoulder.

It didn’t bother him that they were still in an alley, next to stinky trash, because, of course, it wasn’t as if it was the first time they’d been in this position. But, instead, his thoughts drifted yet again to the lights show, to the sparklers and bottle rockets, and to the cops.

Sometimes adrenaline was fun.

Other times, he thought, it was nicer just to have this.

Safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted on tumblr.   
>  i pay more attention to tumblr than this, so, if you liked it, reblog it, mayhaps.
> 
> [**Landfill Archive** | _lnterplay_ on Tumblr](http://lnterplay.tumblr.com/landfill)


End file.
